Not Prisoners
by Jaffee Leeds
Summary: Feanor and Ingwe have a talk. Before they eave Valinor and after Finwe's death. Please R&R Just a one shot.


I found him, fire flaming high around his black maned head, in the belly of his forge that rang with the ceaseless clang of metal on metal. His sons moved like automatons, from forge to bellows to anvil and back again as they shaped new and stronger swords for the coming battles. Not one of them dared to look at me as I passed among them and I didn't try to speak to them. Not after what they had done, what they were about to do.

Feanor looked up as I neared him, a glowing blade in his right hand, a hammer resting with deceptive ease in his left.

"What do you want?" he asked calmly enough.

"I need to speak with you immediately," I answered.

"Then speak," he replied and made as if to turn away.

"King Feanoro," I said cuttingly, "I require an audience with you _alone_. As one king to another."

When he turned to me, his eyes gleamed with fire, tears and raw, animal pain, "Can you say that? Can you say that to me when you know my crown burns like fire upon my brow?" he said in wondering grief.

"I say it because you will not hear gentleness anymore," I said and offered my hand, "Please, Feanoro, come out with me?"

I waited. I knew he would not come. He had spent the last few weeks, no, days...gods had it only been days? He had spent his time in defying every other voice of reason in Valinor. What made me think I could reach him if even his own beloved wife could not. I was the despised brother of his step-mother, why would he listen to me now?

But he lays the hammer down, tenderly and hands the red blade to his eldest son, who avoids my glance.

I followed him out to the bluff over Formenos. He stands, his back ramrod straight, hands resting with a confident attitude on his hips as he faces me. Now that I face him, I hardily know what to say.

"I will not turn back," he says finally, knowing my errand.

"Why not?" I asked simply, "Why turn your back on all that remains of your father and curse yourself and your children for the sins of Morgoth?"

"I do no such thing, Ingwe," he said, a dangerous light leaping into his eyes, his tone low and dark, "I seek to avenge the life of one who was peerless above all in goodness. Who was slain..." he choked on his words his chest heaving with tears, "Who was slain because of me!"

"He was slain because of the greed of Morgoth," I said, "You had nothing to do with it. Finwe would never, could never have wanted you to do this."

"And you know him so well? Do you, Ingwe?" Feanoro demanded wildly, "You who did not sit at his feet and worship him from childhood? You who could never have known how he loved..." He shuddered so violently I reached out but stayed my hand.

"I know he loved you and would cry out a warning before you should curse yourself by your own hand," I pleaded, "The Valar will forgive you."

"Forgive me?" he laughed, a sharp crack of lightening in his voice, "Forgive me? For stating the obvious to them? They would let Morgoth retreat into his lair and my noble father's death go unavenged because they are bitter against me! Because I coveted the Silmarils to my bosom, because they were the last thing he touched," Tears now streamed hot and free down the Noldo's face.

"No, no. Vanya you are in likeness to the Valar, in mind and heart too," he said in disgust, "You cannot understand us...me. You will never know the fire that burns in us, for freedom, for vengeance or hatred, for love. You would have me groveling before Manwe and Varda, a shame to my people and father. You would have me be, as you are, a prisoner in this...torment."

"I wonder that you are so blind. I would have you realize that your grief has blinded you to the true nature of the Valar and their true despair and agony over Finwe's loss. Or do you think you are the only one who grieves?" My own voice betrays me and his eyes search mine for a moment as if looking for something akin to his own wild passion. He looked away dissatisfied.

I pointed to Tirion and said, "Go to them, Feanoro. Allow them to speak to you; rid you of the lies that Morgoth has poisoned you with."

"If you think I am poisoned you speak as a fool," he said.

"I speak with truth, and a mind unclouded with centuries of selfish and besmeared judgment. I have been their companion through my life and I have never found them wanting in anything that Finwe held in his life," I gripped his shoulders, forcing his gaze into mine, "Feanoro, open your eyes and see what is happening here!"

He stared into my eyes, the fire and emotion leaping in the heart of the iris. He calmed under my hands and his face relaxed. Did I dare hope?

Putting a hand on my shoulder he said, "Ingwe, good, honest Ingwe. Even called the Fair as my own son Celegorm. You have done much in your life for the happiness of others, my father not the least of these. I see now that you seek to do the same for me... but, I am _not_ my father. I will never be. You speak of the mercy and goodness of the Valar, but let me ask you this. If we are not then prisoners in this fair isle of Valinor..." he stopped and his grip bit into my flesh, pain radiating from the spot, "If we...you and I are free," he brought his lips to my ear, "Why do they not let us leave?"


End file.
